The Simplicity of Domestics
by seeyouontuesday
Summary: "You're high." "I'm not high." "You look like the fucking chick from The Ring, of course you're high." (Fem!Lock. A Collection of One Shots)
1. Collection One: Beginning

_**Collection One: Beginning  
**_

John didn't swear.

John hardly cursed anyone out, whether it was for to maintain a clean image or to not make others around him uncomfortable. He rarely swore, and when he did, it was entirely by accident and would let it slip when he accidentally injured himself or was surprised.

This time though, he swore loud enough for the whole flat to hear him.

"What the_ fuck_ are you doing?" John said, standing in his bedroom doorway and watching the disheveled figure root around in his bedroom.

His books were no longer on the shelves and on the floor, his drawers were opened and his clothes were thrown everywhere. His bed was no longer neatly made (as he had left it that morning) and even items were taken off of his dresser and placed on the floor. Everything was a mess, and that was only partially John's concern.

Sherlock was a mess. She was wearing her plaid pajama pants and an overly large shirt (was that John's shirt?), and her hair, normally put up, was in wild, tangled curls. She was moving so quickly that John was convinced she was manic, and when she didn't respond, John called out again.

"Oi!" John yelled, and Sherlock finally looked up at John, seemingly cradling... was that his lamp? "What the fuck are you doing?"

"My supply," Sherlock stated, as if John should've understood immediately.

"Your _what_?" John asked again, dumbfounded.

"My. Supply. What have you done with it?" Sherlock asked, and went to put his lamp back on the dresser.

"I didn't touch your fucking supply, why the fuck would I have it?" John asked as he went to start picking up books off the floor and onto his shelf.

"BECAUSE WHERE ELSE WOULD IT BE?" Sherlock yelled back, and turned to face John so quickly she almost hit him in the face with his lamp. John however managed to successfully dodge the lamp, and placed a couple of his books on the shelf.

"Sherlock, I don't have your cig-" John stopped at the foot of his bed and grabbed Sherlock's shoulders so she could look him in the eyes.

Bloodshot.

"You're high," John states. It's not a question.

"I'm not high," Sherlock denies, maintaining eye contact.

"You look like the fucking chick from The Ring, of course you're high," John sighed as he let go of her shoulders. "We've talked about this, Sherlock, we have a system. You were doing so well. What happened?" He asked, his voice less angry and more concerned.

Sherlock stared at John for another moment, then sighed and broke eye contact, staring at the floor. "Got bored," she mumbled. "Sorry."

"Don't-" John started, then paused, trying to find the right words to say and the right tone of voice. "Don't apologize to me, please. Just...go shower. You look miserable. We'll figure something out, okay?"

Sherlock hesitated, then nodded, stepping off his bed and leaving to their bathroom. John gave a light smile, then turned to his bedroom and groaned inwardly as he stared at the mess on his floor.

It was going to be a long day at 221B.

* * *

**A/N:**

\- trying to keep up w/ a thirty day prompt, drabble sort of thing, just to get into writing more and to improve.

\- hopefully soon i'll be able to finish outlining and write an actual Sherlock fanfic. been meaning to for years, but never been able to sit down and do it

\- in the meantime, enjoy this :) i wuv you guys. stay tuned for more.


	2. Collection Two: Accusation

_**Collection Two: Accusation **_

The tea caddy was gone.

John wasn't saying that tea was his hobby, but as of late he and Sherlock were running low on cases (whether it was because Sherlock was going through withdrawal, which caused her to be more grumpy and irritable than usual, or because the criminal class had gotten competent recently, he'd let God decide), and when Sherlock was busy keeping herself occupied with _whatever_ she had decided to keep busy with, John made himself a cup of tea.

Tea bag. A bit of milk. On the rare occasion, two sugars. Sometimes a biscuit. It wasn't difficult.

Except the tea caddy was missing.

He made a through search of the kitchen for the tea caddy, searching the cabinets and drawers and even the sink before staring at its usual spot next to the cutlery.

Missing.

"Sherlock?" John called as he walked the short distance from kitchen to the edge of their sitting room. Sherlock briefly acknowledged John as she looked up from her sitting position on the chair facing the television, pajama clad and curls wild.

"Hm?"

"The tea caddy's missing," John stated.

Sherlock rolled her eyes and scoffed, continuing to watch the characters on screen. "How quaint."

"Did you have anything to do with it?"

"No."

"Are you_ positive_?"

"I didn't touch the stupid caddy, John. Ask Mrs. Hudson."

John sighed, half tempted to reach over and turn off the television. Crap telly would end up ruining the both of them. "Look, I'm not mad at you. I just need to know what you did with it."

"I didn't," Sherlock bluntly said back.

"But you did something with it?" John asked.

"...no," she hesitated.

"So you _admit_ you did something with it," John started shouting.

"Oh, for _God's_ sake, I didn't touch the stupid tea caddy," Sherlock finally broke eye contact with the screen to look John in the eyes, irritated and angry. "You know I don't drink your stupid inane tea, and even if I did, I wouldn't take any from the tea caddy. It's yours, and I don't want to take from your stupid fucking box."

John was just about to argue back when a knock came from the door.

"Sorry dears, just coming through," Mrs Hudson hooted as she breezed through their flat, tray full of plates and silverware. "I know I'm not your housekeeper, but Sherlock's been needing sometime to herself, and John, love, you've just been out so much, so I thought I'd help with Sherlock's coming down and wash a couple plates. No trouble at all, really, just thought I'd help."

John turned to tell Mrs Hudson that now wasn't the best time when he settled on a familiar chrome container.

"Mrs Hudson?" John asked, even though the sinking feeling in his chest already told him the answer. "Did you take my tea caddy?"

"Oh!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed. "So I did. Sorry dear, it just looked like it needed a good wash. I put all the tea bags in my kitchen downstairs, I'll go get them!"

Mrs Hudson scuttled past them as John stared dumbfounded at the container. He continued to turn bright red as Sherlock chuckled behind him, and turned to see a smug smile on her face. "Told you so," Sherlock muttered as she refocused on the television.

"Shut up," John hissed as he walked quickly into their kitchen to make his hard earned cup of tea.

* * *

**A/N:**

\- grumpy Sherlock and tired John are good, grumpy Sherlock and tired John are great.

\- a doozy to write. hopefully i'll have something up tomorrow.


	3. Collection Three: Restless

_**Collection Three: Restless**_

"Nightmares again?" A voice asked from John's right, and John looked up from his chair to see Sherlock standing in the doorway. Pajama clad, again, but that's the way it was around the flat these days. This time though, she had a mug of...something with her, and she looked less tired than she had been the last couple of weeks.

"Yeah, I, er, couldn't go back to sleep, so uh... blog," John provided lamely, briefly glancing at the clock on his laptop to confirm that it was indeed, too early in the morning for both of them.

Sherlock nodded as she sat down on the sofa across from him, tucking her legs under her. "Good."

"Yeah," John said again, offering an awkward smile. He was _not _expecting her to be up this late, but he supposed neither did she.

"Which case?" She asked, looking down at her mug and taking a tentative sip.

"The uh... the one about the American. Hailey Doran," John responded. The case had been an interesting one. An acquaintance of Sherlock's had come to them claiming that his fiance had disappeared, quite literally, from their wedding reception. Sherlock, with a little background knowledge and quick research, had been able to prove where his fiance had went and why, and in turn, quietly apologized to the man. It had been a relatively simple case, but still one that tugged on John's heartstrings.

"Ah. What're you thinking of titling it?" Sherlock asked, and John seemed to find it odd that she was interested in his blog tonight.

"_The Eligible Bachelor_?" The unsure lit at the end of his sentence turned in into a question.

However, Sherlock seemed to find it amusing and chuckled. "Very American. I like it."

The two sat in silence for a moment, with John no longer focused on his writing and very aware of Sherlock in the room, whereas Sherlock seemed to pay John's awkwardness no mind and continued to sip her drink.

"Can I ask?" John finally asked. "You're...in a good mood tonight."

Sherlock looked up from her mug and raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"Well you've hardly ever been in a good mood recently," John explained himself. "Withdrawal tends to do that."

Sherlock leaned back on the sofa, unfolding her legs and stretching them out in front of her. "Yes. I suppose."

"You're also awake, if I may add." John continued, and Sherlock shrugged.

"Couldn't sleep," she stated matter-of-factually. "Already tried all the usual stuff. Read my entire bookshelf, did a little internet research. Did you know that jellyfish aren't actually fish? They're a type of plankton."

"I didn't, no."

"Fascinating creatures, jellyfish." Sherlock smiled softly to herself and took another sip from her mug. The silence continued to fill the room, and for a brief second, everything felt peaceful and at home.

"Sherlock?" John asked quietly after a few minutes.

"Mm?" Sherlock mumbled.

"Are you doing okay tonight?"

Sherlock hesitated, then looked at her mug and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "...yes."

"Are you sure?" John asked, closing his laptop and setting it on the floor before scooting closer to her in his chair. "If it's a danger night, I need you to let me know, okay? I'm willing to do anything you want if it means you'll be safe."

"...anything?" Sherlock whispered, and finally looked John in the eyes with an emotion he couldn't place.

"...yes," John whispered back after a pause. "Of course. You're my best friend."

Sherlock continued to stare at him with those eyes, with the emotion he couldn't register, and for a brief moment, it was just them in their flat and nothing else mattered.

And then she closed her eyes and sighed, bringing him, unfortunately, back to reality. "Goodnight, John. Try to get some sleep."

And then Sherlock left, leaving John alone on in the sitting room, confused and feeling like he had watched the quiet before the storm.

* * *

**A/N:**

\- written during a very sleepless night, so the prompt was very fitting lmao

\- the next couple of chapters should be fun. might have to rewatch season four though and that's..icky... so we'll see

\- the story i referenced was _The Adventure of The Noble_ Bachelor, by Arthur Conan Doyle


	4. Collection Four: Haze

_**Collection Four: Haze**_

Manic. Manic manic manic manic

The rug was on the ceiling John's chair was on the wall Sherlock hadn't taken _anything _well alright not _enough_ to do _anything _she was manic manic hopelessly and irrevocably manic

She laid on the floor the carpet she can count each individual carpet strand individually the feeling of the carpet on the floor-

The wallpaper spun in circles lazily

She grinned at the yellow spray painted smiley face on the wall

The face smiled back

Lots of color shifting colors colors associated with people colors melting into the walls and the furniture

Footsteps on the stairs louder in her ears than thunderstorms

_John! _She whispered her grin growing wider

John was good John was lovely John was wonderful she loved John John John John Watson Doctor Watson

His name sounded so good in her head

John Watson

_Sherlock?_

She smiled at the figure standing above her a faded dull pink

_John! _She squealed softly

She slipped out of consciousness as the phone rang

_John- _

~X~

Sherlock groaned softly, then forced herself to open her eyes. The bright, sterile white room added to the buzzing in her ears and the pounding in her head, and for a second, the uncomfortable manner of the situation made her almost forget why she was there.

And then John cleared his throat from the chair across from the hospital bed, and Sherlock's heart plummeted.

"You're awake," John said flatly, not looking up from his newspaper. "Good. Might want to turn up your morphine. I fiddled with the tabs a bit, you know. Just in case."

Sherlock groaned again and closed her eyes, ignoring the hostility in John's voice, and then pushed the button on the IV needle.

"You," John started, finally putting down the newspaper and looking her in the eyes. "Lied to me. You said you were safe, that it wasn't a danger night."

Sherlock couldn't bring herself to respond.

Were there _tears_ in his eyes?

_Sentiment. A trait found in the losing side_, a voice sounding suspiciously like her brother's told her in her head.

_Maybe,_ she thought._ I want to be on the losing side. _

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispers, her voice catching, and she almost believes it. "I got bored again."

"That's not an excuse anymore," John hissed, and clenched his fists. "Sherlock, for God's sake, you can't shoot up every time you get bored. I need-" he choked up and broke eye contact.

"I need you to clean up your act," he whispered. "For me, Sherlock. If not for yourself, then for me."

And maybe it was still the effects of the high, or simply a moment of weakness, but she reached over and took John's hand.

"I will," she mumbled back. "I promise."

* * *

**A/N: **

\- is it obvious i've never been high a day in my life?


	5. Collection Five: Snowflake

_**Collection Five: Snowflake**_

Sherlock's recovery was, to John's surprise, going well. She wasn't as grumpy with the nurses as she had been on previous visits, and actually did what she was told in order to get better. In just a few days, Sherlock was out of hospital in record time.

Which, unfortunately, left Sherlock alone in the flat.

It _did_ take some trial and error, but they eventually worked out a system. Mrs. Hudson would watch Sherlock in the mornings while John was at the clinic, and either Mycroft or Molly in the afternoons. John would watch over in the evenings and on weekends. Ultimately, Sherlock was not allowed to be unsupervised.

Which Sherlock absolutely_ despised_.

She wasn't allowed to take any cases during recovery, and Sherlock claimed that doing so "dulled my ever-working brain, John, I can't just turn it off," so John was doing his best to find ways to distract her that didn't end chaotically.

He tried to get her into baking. That ended with a small oven fire and a burnt batch of biscuits.

He bought her a few new novels to read. She ended up reading all of them in two hours.

Mrs. Hudson tried getting her into knitting, which surprisingly went okay, with Sherlock making a small tea cozy, but she hadn't touched the needles in a few days, and John had a suspicion that Sherlock was only doing it to make Mrs. Hudson happy.

They _tried_ Cluedo. That ended with the board pinned to the mantle.

So Sherlock ended up watching more crap telly. Which, John supposed, wasn't the worst thing in the world. She had the television, he had his blog. Enough to keep her distracted.

"John," Sherlock mumbled, and John briefly looked up from his laptop to see Sherlock staring out the window.

"Hm?" John hums, going back to typing.

"It's snowing."

"...what?"

Sherlock rolled her eyes, then turned and gave John an almost-death glare. "It's snowing, John, are your ears not working?"

"No, Sherlock-" John started, then took a deep breath before he goes back to typing. "Sorry. Just thought I didn't hear you correctly."

The flat is silent for a few minutes as John continued to type and Sherlock continued to stare at the snowfall outside the window.

"Did you know that it's actually not true? That there are no two snowflakes alike," Sherlock said after a hesitation. "It might be for some of the bigger snowflakes, but when they've just formed and are just ice crystals, they're actually very similar."

"I didn't know that, no," John says dismissively.

Sherlock sighed, then closed the curtain and sat back down in her chair, continuing to watch TV.

Then John got an idea.

"Hey Sherlock?" John asked as he closed his laptop. "Go get your coat on."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked confused for brief second, then grinned brightly and bounced out of her chair.

John smiled slightly to himself as she practically ran out of the room, then went to find his own coat and to call a cab.

~X~

The two must've looked odd to any onlookers, but John didn't mind all that much. Sherlock hadn't bothered to changed out of her pajamas, just threw her coat and scarf on over her grey pajama set, while John looked vaguely put together, but extremely tired.

John led Sherlock down the square, their footsteps making soft crunches in the settling snow. The city itself was loud and noisy, and with all the lights and screens it seemed even more chaotic, but somehow the snow added a sense of peace.

They stopped in the middle of the pavement, watching the people around the square.

Snow fell and stuck in Sherlock's dark curls, and even though she was a mess, she grinned and watched the snow settle on the city.

John grinned too.

* * *

**A/N:**

\- sorry this was late, but now the chapter numbers line up with the dates, so that makes my small heart happy


	6. Collection Six: Flame

_**Collection Six: Flame **_

_Flick._

_Flick._

_Flick._

Sherlock sat on the living room floor in the dark, flicking the lighter on and off and watching the sparks.

She was increasingly aware of how it looked, however, she was sure she was fine. She just needed to withstand the urge for two minutes, and then head back to bed.

"Sherlock?" A voice mumbled from the doorway, and Sherlock looked over to see John in his pajamas, looking dazed and confused.

"Hello," she whispered back, and turned to watch the dancing flame. "Isn't it pretty? The fire. Especially in the dark."

"Sherlock," John started. "If this is a danger night-"

"It's not," she said, rolling her eyes.

"You said that the last time."

"It's different." Sherlock whispered. "It's different this time."

_Flick._

_Flick._

_Flick. _

"Right, well if you're sure you're okay, I'm gonna...tea," John mumbled lamely, and started to head in the kitchen.

"Wait-" Sherlock interrupted, and stood up to intercept John.

"Here," she said, and handed him her lighter. "To prove it's different this time."

John stared at the small cylinder in his hand for a few seconds, then looked up at Sherlock. "What?"

"Well it's not like I'm going to need it anymore," Sherlock stated, then gave a small smile. "Have a good night, John."

And she turned to finally get some sleep for the first time in weeks, with John mumbling a tired "G'night, Sherlock," behind her.

* * *

**A/N: **

\- and...eight minutes till midnight! yay!

\- (i promise i'll be better at keeping up with this. sorry this was shorter than usual. i've been busy, but starting tomorrow i'll write a few more chapters in advance)


	7. Collection Seven: Formal

_**Collection Seven: Formal**_

"I just don't see why we have to dress up for this," Sherlock said from their bathroom.

"Sherlock, it's a formal event, we at least have to be presentable," John replied, fixing his lame attempt to tie his tie. "There'll be paparazzi...and reporters."

"But why do they need to be involved?" Sherlock asked, opening the bathroom door and entering their kitchen, wearing her grey bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her curls.

"People have been concerned about your health," John responded.

"But why is it any of their business?" Sherlock prompted again.

"Sherlock, please," John sighed. "Just...look at little bit more put together. Please."

Sherlock hesitated for a second, then raised an eyebrow. "...can we get chips afterwards?"

"If it'll make you put on a stupid skirt."

Sherlock's grin grew wider, then rolled her eyes playfully as she left to go change in her bedroom.

Someone hooted from behind him, and John turned as Mrs. Hudson entered their kitchen.

"Oh, John! You look just lovely," Mrs Hudson smiled, and John smiled tightly back. He hadn't done much, just put on a white dress shirt over his dress pants, and relearned how to tie his necktie very quickly. The most effort he put in was putting product in his hair.

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson," John replied.

"It really is good that Sherlock's finally going out," Mrs. Hudson responded, sitting down in John's armchair. "It'll be good for her recovery, she needs to get out more."

"Oh, it'll be..something," John responded awkwardly, looking down at his shoes. "Most of the Yard'll be there. Lestrade. Maybe Molly."

"Ugh," a voice said behind him, and John turned back around to meet eyes with Sherlock.

Oh.

_Oh. _

Sherlock had put her hair up in a simple up-do, with a few perfectly placed curls framing her face. She was wearing a dark purple knee length dress (John didn't think she even _owned_ a dress), but kept a pair of black flats, so she was still the same amount of height taller than John.

"They're not concerned about my health," Sherlock continued, grabbing her purse from the kitchen table. "If anything, they're annoyed I didn't overdose."

Sherlock finally met John's eyes. "Yes?"

"Nothing, nothing," John stammered. "You just...you look nice."

Sherlock hesitated, then gave him a soft grin. "Thank you," she mumbled. They stared at each other awkwardly for a second, then she cleared her throat. "So, chips?"

* * *

**A/N:**

\- almost late again! ahh! tomorrow i'll post at a much more reasonable time (and i'll probably write some more chapters in advance)


	8. Collection Eight: Companion

**_Collection Eight: Companion_**

"Are you..." John stopped in the doorway to the living room, peering over Sherlock's shoulder to watch the television set.

"...yes?" Sherlock prompted him to finish his sentence.

"Are you...watching Doctor Who?" John asked, a little surprised.

"Yes. Popcorn?" Sherlock asked, holding out the bowl of popcorn she made earlier, eyes glued to the telly.

John hesitated for a brief second, then shrugged. "Sure, I'll take some," he sighed as he joined Sherlock on the couch.

A few minutes of silence go by as John and Sherlock watch the Tenth Doctor dance on the screen, save for the few crunches of popcorn.

"Why, uh," John piped up after a minute. "Why Doctor Who?"

"It was on," Sherlock said bluntly.

"Oh," John responded. "Right. I just, uh...didn't think you would like Doctor Who."

"I'm British, John, I'm not an idiot."

"Right, right," John repeated, and they fell back into silence to watch the screen.

"I don't like Rose," Sherlock said after a minute.

"Oh," John said. "Really? I quite liked her."

"Well, of course _you_ would," Sherlock rolled her eyes. "She's just...too dull for me. Wasn't intelligent enough to keep up with the Doctor. Kind of clingy, you know?"

"I suppose," John replied as he took another piece of popcorn into his mouth. "I just thought she was sweet. Who's your favorite then?"

Sherlock pondered for a minute. "Probably Donna. She could hold her own, doesn't need to depend on the Doctor. Not the most intelligent out of the bunch, but smart enough. They had good banter."

"Fair enough," John shrugged, and they fell silent again.

"Well," John sighed as he stood up after a few moments. "I'm gonna make some tea. Want any?"

"Three sugars please," Sherlock said, and John smiled politely, then went to make their tea.

Later, Sherlock would realize, but never say out loud, if she was to compare herself to the Doctor, John would most certainly be her companion, and maybe, just _maybe_, a _teensy little bit_ like Rose.

Needless to say, after that, Sherlock started liking Rose just a little bit more.

* * *

**A/N: **

\- almost a little on time today yay!

\- opinions expressed about certain companions in this work are not my own. i love Rose just as much as the next guy


	9. Collection Nine: Move

**_Collection Nine: Move_**

After a couple weeks, John had finally convinced Sherlock to pick up the violin again.

Part of it was for her. It helped her think, helped her clear her head, and frankly, if she did say so herself, she was quite good at it.

And, maybe _just_ a little bit of it was also for John.

It wasn't his fault! He liked that she played the violin. He liked sitting on the couch with a cup of tea and listening to her compose late into the night.

He liked watching her play. She moved with the music, whatever she was writing. He watched her sway solemnly, watched her tap her foot to keep rhythm, watched her fingers move up and down the fingerboard.

It was captivating.

But then, so was she.

"Did you say you used to do ballet?" John interrupted one night. Sherlock sighed in annoyance, then leaned down and scribbled something down on a piece of sheet music, her violin and bow in one hand.

"Yes," she responded after a brief pause. "When I was younger. Bit of a family activity, I suppose."

"Really?" John chuckled a bit. "Funny, I uh...didn't think Mycroft was the ballet sort of bloke."

"He wasn't," Sherlock said, keeping her eyes down. "My little sister and I did ballet."

"...you have a sister?" John asked.

"Had," Sherlock corrected bluntly, and finished whatever note she was making. "She passed away years ago."

"Christ," John exhaled. "I didn't know, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Sherlock shrugged, and raised her violin to her chin. "She would've ended up being too smart for her own good anyway."

The now somber violin music filled the flat again, leaving John dazed and confused and sort of...sad? Where the Holmes' always like that? Blunt and indifferent?

"Why do you ask?" Sherlock asked, putting down her violin to scribble in more notes. "About the ballet, why do you ask?"

"Oh," John said, and looked down at his mug in embarrassment. "No reason, I just, uh... remembered that you liked to dance."

* * *

**A/N: **

\- fanfiction means i get to kill off plot devices i don't like and think are useless to the canon, right? right?


	10. Collection Ten: Silver

_**Collection Ten: Silver**_

Sherlock had John's dog tags.

She had taken them one time during a manic episode, and he had never asked about them, so she was going to hold onto them until he said something.

She liked the feel of them in her hand. She liked running her fingers against the stamped lettering on the cool metal.

_Watson, John H. _

She tried herself to imagine what it was like to be in the military, to be in John's position.

She couldn't.

Sherlock kept them in the dresser, in a small box in her sock index. Whenever she felt herself slipping in the middle of the night, she took them and held onto them until she fell asleep, cradling them in her hands.

They kept her sane.

So if anyone asked, no she hadn't seen John's dog tags.

* * *

**A/N:**

\- shorter today cause i couldn't come up with anything better. tomorrow will be better. i've planned out the next seven prompts so hopefully? the drabbles will get better from here on out


	11. Collection Eleven: Prepared

_**Collection Eleven: Prepared**_

"Alright, Sherlock. Are you prepared?" John asked, standing in front of the door that leads out the flat.

"...yes." Sherlock answered after a moment, sitting on the staircase.

"That didn't sound sure." John raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. I'm prepared," Sherlock rolled her eyes. "Go over my notes again, just to be sure."

"What do you say when someone asks how your recovery is going?" John said.

"I smile, nod, and say better than expected, I should be out in the public eye within the next two weeks," Sherlock responded.

"What do you say when someone asks if you're on any cases right now?" John fired back.

"I smile, but shake my head, and say I'm not accepting any cases until after my recovery is finished," Sherlock said quickly.

"What do you say when someone asks about your stay in hospital?"

"I smile and thank the nurses that took care of me, and add special thanks to you for sticking with me."

"What do you do when asked about the blog?"

"Direct the questions immediately to you."

"Attagirl. What do you respond with when someone asks if we're together?"

"Smile, shake my head, and say that you're just my dear friend and blogger," Sherlock said, and John ignored the strange pit in his stomach and put on a small smile.

"I think you're good," John finished, and Sherlock offered another smile as she stood up from the staircase and brushed off her coat.

"Alright," Sherlock muttered to herself. There was a brief pause, then Sherlock pulled John into a quick one-armed hug, surprising him.

"Thank you," she whispered, and John suddenly doesn't want to let go.

Instead, he pat her on the back. "Don't mention it," he responded, his voice low, and let go a little too soon.

"Ready?" He asked.

Sherlock nodded, and John opened the door to the world of flashing lights and reporters, letting them into the flat.

* * *

**A/N:**

\- this was better in my head than when i actually wrote it all down. oops


	12. Collection Twelve: Knowledge

_**Collection Twelve: Knowledge**_

"Tell me the strangest thing you know," John said, and they're both tipsy and in a good mood and _yes_, maybe just a _little bit _drunk, and John couldn't care less because he could listen to Sherlock talk and talk and talk for ages.

Sherlock giggles, and then tries to think of something interesting to tell John.

"Did you know that goldfish don't actually have _that_ small of a memory?" She asked, and John chuckled a little bit, even though he has no idea why he finds it funny.

"No, I didn't," John smiled.

"Yeah!" Sherlock said brightly. "They usually have a memory span of about a month."

"That's cute," John chuckled again, and took another sip of his drink.

He either doesn't notice her turn slightly red, or chooses to deal with in the morning.

* * *

**A/N: **

\- sorry for being late and for this being short please take two chapters as a peace offering thank you i'm so sorry


	13. Collection Thirteen: Denial

_**Collection Thirteen: Denial **_

John Watson is _not _in love with Sherlock Holmes.

There. He said it. He's not.

She's younger than him, for instance. Granted, she wasn't that much younger than him, but John would never hear the end of it from Harry.

They were absolute polar opposites. John liked to think he was an actual normal human being? With people skills? And Sherlock was immensely socially awkward. She kept to herself and was rude to everyone and too blunt and was _so emotionally _invested in her work.

Yeah, she was conventionally attractive, John guessed. She was taller than him, which he didn't hate, but then again, most people were. Prominent cheekbones. Curls wild for days. Ocean blue eyes. But he had also seen her at her worst, and trust him, Sherlock at her worst wasn't attractive.

Most of the time.

Then again, Sherlock hated most people.

She didn't hate John.

So sure, he loved her in a sense. Loved the way she could figure out his passwords in seconds, loved the way she held herself when she guessed something right, loved the feeling of just the two of them against the world.

He loved that she liked him too.

But no.

He wasn't in _love _with Sherlock Holmes.

Well.

Maybe?

_Oh fuck. _

* * *

**A/N: **

\- again, sorry this is late. it's...midnight now, so i guess expect another chapter later today? jeez


	14. Collection Fourteen: Wind

_**Collection Fourteen: Wind**_

"Remind me what we're doing again?" John asked, trying to make himself heard above the usual chatter of the city and the rain starting to come down. Sherlock had just sort've dragged John out of the flat with no other explanation, and now they were walking...somewhere in London.

Sherlock rolled her eyes. "We're getting chips," she stated bluntly.

"Right, right right," John said, and looked back out into the street. "Why couldn't we go to Speedy's? You know...the cafe...below our flat," John continued after a minute.

"Because the best ones are across town," Sherlock stated again, and shoved her hands in her coat pockets.

"...but it's cold," John complained. "And Speedy's is downstairs."

"I'll buy you a coffee," Sherlock said, and the idea of coffee made John feel slightly better, so he put his hands in his pockets and didn't say anything.

They both let the rain make noise for them and the city sounds whisper to them.

"John-" she started.

They were both interrupted by a gust of wind.

He turned to look at her, and started to laugh at her disheveled state, her curls wild, her cheeks red, her coat collar flipped up.

"You're..." John started, the smile obviously present on his face.

_Adorable. _

"A mess,' John said instead, and Sherlock pouted as she ran her fingers through her hair and tried to flip her coat collar back down.

"Shut up," she muttered as she brushed past John, and John sighed, swallowing his feelings and following her soon after.

* * *

**A/N:**

\- uhhhh expect three chapters today? maybe?


	15. Collection Fifteen: Order

_**Collection Fifteen: Order**_

"John?" Sherlock said from her bedroom door.

John looked up from his computer and from his cup of tea. "Hm?"

"Did you...were you in my room earlier?" Sherlock asked, still standing in the doorway.

John was quiet for a second, then turned and continued to type on his laptop. "No, I don't think so."

"Are you...sure?" Sherlock prompted again.

"Pretty sure, yeah."

"John, you are a wonderful friend but a terrible liar."

"Why do you ask?" John asked, turning back around to look Sherlock in the eyes.

"My sock index was out of order," Sherlock stated plainly. "I know you went through it."

"Now why would you think-?" John started.

"Do you not trust me?" Sherlock interrupted quickly, and the room fell into a silence.

"...what?" John whispered.

"I know you were looking for my supply," Sherlock responded quietly. "That's what you do when you go through my room. Where you?"

The kitchen falls silent.

"...yes," John mumbled.

Sherlock stared at John for a few seconds, then sighed. She moved into the kitchen, then sat down at the table across from John.

"John-" Sherlock started.

"It's not that I don't trust you," John interrupted. "I do, Sherlock, I promise. I just...I wanted to make sure you weren't using again. I didn't know how to ask, and I didn't think you would notice. I'm sorry."

Sherlock is silent for a minute, then sighed and gave a small smile. "I'm not," Sherlock assured him, and reached over and took his hand. "I threw it out weeks ago. Haven't even considered using again."

"...you promise?" John asked, very aware of her hand on top of his.

"Promise," Sherlock nodded, and squeezed his hand.

They stay like that for a few seconds, then she let go and headed back into her room.

"Oh," John turned and called after her. "By the way, can I have my dog tags back?"

* * *

**A/N:**

\- two down, one to go. you guys will _LOVE_ the next one


	16. Collection Sixteen: Thanks

_**Collection Sixteen: Thanks **_

"I'm going to do something dumb," Sherlock stated as she walked into the room. She sat down directly across from John, and John looked up at her in her chair, confused.

"Sorry?" John asked.

"I'm going to do something dumb," Sherlock repeated, avoiding eye contact with John. "I've been making deductions and hypothesizing and I've come to a conclusion, therefore I am going to do something utterly stupid."

"...sorry, what are you going on ab-" John asked again.

"No no no," Sherlock interrupted. "I just need to talk for a minute, and I can't have you respond."

And so, John stayed silent. He gave her a nod, and after a second, Sherlock stood up and started pacing.

"Now, as we both know, I am not good at communicating my emotions, if I have any," Sherlock said. "And I want to do this right. I want-" Sherlock swallowed and looked down at the carpet.

"I want to do this right." Sherlock whispered.

John let the silence settle, even though his heart was racing. "Sherlock?"

"Would you let me do something dumb?" Sherlock mumbled and looked him in the eyes.

The silence stung even more.

"..yes," John whispered.

She stared at him intently for a second.

They were sitting far too close to each other for friends.

Sherlock leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn't a very long kiss, granted, but it was enough to feel the electricity between them.

And _oh my god_.

Sherlock pulled away, the silence loud both in their ears and John's heart started beating faster.

"Thanks," she whispered softly.

"Wait wait wait," John stammered. "Do that again."

And this time, when she kissed him, she leaned into him and _meant_ it.

* * *

**A/N:**

\- didn't i say you'd like this one?


	17. Collection Seventeen: Look

_**Collection Seventeen: Look**_

They had stayed up for hours. Sherlock had spent the night in John's room, and they just-

Talked. He told her everything, she did her best to, he held onto her tightly and didn't want to let go.

But he had to now. His alarm went off, signaling that he had to go work in an hour, and yet still, all he wanted to do was stay in bed and hold her.

The streetlamp shone through his window, and John groaned softly as he sat up in his bed. His eyes adjusted, and then he turned to look at Sherlock asleep next to him.

He had never once seen her look that peaceful.

Sherlock groaned herself, and her eyes slowly opened, made eye contact with John, and softly smiled.

"Good morning," Sherlock yawned, and stretched her arms above her. She sat up in bed and scratched her head, and then looked back up at John.

"What's that look for?" Sherlock laughed when John hadn't broken eye contact.

"Nothing, nothing," John mumbled, and pressed a small kiss to her forehead. "You're beautiful."

* * *

**A/N: **

\- i promise i'll write longer drabbles soon i've just been exhausted and busy. thank you for sticking with this though. we're over halfway through now! yay!


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